Freedom Fighters

29. Burned

February 1957
Sierra Maestra, Cuba

The acrid smell of charred remains invaded Dario's nostrils. There was nothing left of this place, save for the sobbing woman and child that hid in the adjacent vegetation. As Dario walked through what used to be a village, he shook his head in sadness at the dead bodies that littered the ground. The houses, once dependable structures that sheltered families in this harsh world, were now piles of charcoal after being razed to the ground.

This was the second time already. The other incident was stark in its similarity. A comrade reported seeing smoke from his lookout, and Dario took a small party to investigate. Upon reaching the scene, they discovered that a village had been burned down. That time, an entire family of four had managed to escape. They said that it was the army that did it.

He sighed, and lines of worry formed on his forehead. Was this done merely to send them a message? He turned his gaze to the sole survivors of the village, a thickset woman holding her young boy like it was the last thing in the world she cherished.

"How did it happen?" Dario asked softly, with as much compassion as he could.

The woman looked at him with eyes that threatened to burst into tears. It hurt even to recount the tragedy. 

"Soldiers... Last night, some of them... about ten... in a vehicle... They came with torches and oil. I ran with my son to the vegetation and they did not see us. They started shooting everybody... even my Chavo... Then they... they burnt the whole place down."

Dario nodded. With a strained and dry voice, he said, "I cannot begin to imagine how difficult it is for you. Do not worry, the Movement will take care of you."

He clicked his tongue, calling a comrade. "Jorge, can you take them to the refugee camp? Take Miguel with you."

"Yes, Dario."

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With his remaining two men of his party, Dario trekked through the jungle for hours, up familiar trails back to his platoon encampment, which was nothing more than a huddle of tents in a clearing. The word "platoon" was a superlative at this point of time as it consisted of barely fifteen people, including the Almeidas and little Oliverio. 

"Dario!" a much too familiar female voice called out to him as soon as he reached.

"Juanita!" he exclaimed in surprise. "Why are you here?"

She strutted over to kiss her lover on the cheek. 

"Aren't you supposed to be securing supply lines with Huber?" Dario asked, holding her at the waist. "Not that I mind you being here..."

She laughed. "I was giving my monthly report to Fidel when he said he needed someone to deliver a message to you. I volunteered of course. It was on the way to my next destination anyways."

Dario perked his eyebrow up. "And what was the message?"

"Fidel said that you need to convene in the main camp tomorrow with the other commanders to coordinate the next offensive."

"I see," Dario said. It was routine matters. Nothing out of the ordinary there.

"So... where were you?"

Dario sighed. He led her to sit down on a chair before continuing. "Another razed village."

"Oh no, again?!"

"Yes, again," he said gravely. "Same story. Batista's soldiers killing villagers and burning down houses. This time, just a woman and child survived."